Time Salvager (Time Salvager #1)(105)
James put his arms around her and held her close. “I’ll get more wood,” he said.
“I think we’re okay for now,” she said.
Of course James didn’t get the hint and started to get up. She pulled him back down and put a finger on his lips. “Don’t you dare think about getting up again,” she murmured, bending his head down and covering his mouth with hers. At first, he froze at her contact, and Elise thought she had misread his feelings for her, that maybe all this time, he just considered himself her protector.
Then he softened just a little and she felt him return the kiss. He put his hands on her hips. Elise linked her fingers behind his neck and pulled herself onto him. James brushed the hair away from her eyes. She felt each of his calluses as his fingers brushed down her cheeks toward her mouth. He continued to hold her as if he were afraid he’d drop her and she’d break. It wasn’t enough. Putting both her hands on his face, she kissed him with renewed intensity. If he was going to treat her as if she were some sort of frail china doll, then he had another thing coming. The pressure drove him backward and they found themselves on the ground, still cocooned in James’s exo.
“About leaving at first light,” she murmured, brushing his cheek with hers as she breathed in his ear and tugged at his shirt. “You might want to reconsider that.”
FORTY
TRAITOR
“Are you sure,” said Levin, a slow burn roiling in the pit of his stomach.
He was sitting in the meeting room next to Young’s office. To his left sat the director, Kuo, Hameel from the Handlers Operation, and Buchanan, the medical quartermaster. Levin tapped the metal surface of the table with his fingers in succession as the vid hovering over the center of the table played on a repeated loop. The evidence was there for everyone to see.
There was Handler Smitt hacking into the security net for the east wing, first inserting a doppelganger hack into the system, and then using a paint band to impersonate one of the licensed miasma techs. He hadn’t done a bad job; most standard security audits would have missed it if Levin, having anticipated James’s need for miasma pills, had not implemented additional security protocols in the medical ward.
“I’ve tested the entire batch of the miasma pills, Auditor,” Buchanan said. “The handler switched several cycles’ worth with placebos. Chronmen affected by those batches would only receive two-thirds of their regimen.”
“How many pills stolen total?”
“Seven cycles, Auditor.”
Eighty-four damn pills. Over a year’s worth. What did that mean? Did James plan to continue his romps in time? For what purpose? If he was smart, he would have used his remaining small supply to wean off the lag sickness and fade into obscurity. Instead, he risked increased exposure by leaving jump trails for Levin to track. According to the most recent surveillance, his activity was actually picking up. What was he up to?
Kuo might not think it timely, but Levin and his team were closing in on James’s locations. Between triangulating his movements in the present with all his jump points to the past, the team had ruled out all of Asia and Africa, and had pretty much confirmed Europe. Just a few hits more and a little luck, and the fugitive would soon find Levin either at his doorsteps or waiting for him at one of his return jumps.
James’s actions were perplexing, though. He still seemed to be trying, somewhat, to follow the Time Laws, except of course for the most egregious ones he’d already broken. All his jumps were short, and to relatively lower-tech salvages, and most of his actions still fit the spirit of the Time Laws. With the recent revelation of Smitt’s theft, it was all but confirmed that James had no intention of just lying low. The man was no fool; he must be playing some sort of long game.
The immediate concern at this moment was Handler Smitt. Miasma theft was common. The pills could be addictive if not strictly monitored. Usually, theft was carried out by addicted chronmen or those who sold to them. It usually resulted in nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a requirement that chronman detox in therapy. The problem with Smitt here seemed suspiciously more like treason, which, on the other hand, carried only one sentence. No one in this room believed he was stealing miasma pills for any other reason than to give them to his fugitive friend.
“Our course of action is clear,” Levin said, grimacing. “Auditor Geneese, call a squad to escort Handler Smitt to the brig.”
“A moment, Levin,” said Kuo, holding up a hand. “This situation has value. If this traitor is communicating with the fugitive, arresting him is a waste of this information.” She looked over at Levin. “Place a neural bug in his mind.”
“Definitely not,” Levin said, standing up.
Young scratched his beard and leaned back. “Spying into anyone’s mind is frowned upon. It’s not our way and can lead to distrust among the ranks.”
“It would be stupid not to seize this advantage,” Kuo retorted. “We use this on all our high-value employees.”
Levin saw Young’s brows rise at her choice of words; the director was not used to being spoken to in such a manner.
“I don’t disagree,” Young said in a slow, measured tone. “But there is collateral damage to the rank and file’s morale as it is. If word leaks of—”
“Let me make this clear, Director Young,” Kuo said. “Valta feels that this course of action best suits both the corporation’s and ChronoCom’s interests.”